


you were looking for a tea light and i will always be a forest fire

by la_victorienne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne
Summary: All of her best ideas come when she's out with the team.





	

"So he pulled the 'give me a kiss' trick, did he?"

Ariadne frowns, trying to discern the source of the voice. Arthur is at the bar ordering drinks, Yusuf is putting the moves on the cute DJ, Saito took a phone call—ah. There is Eames, closer in the booth than he had been before, his mouth distractingly close, and she has to blink to focus her thoughts before she can answer.

"Who told you that?"

"I heard a rumour," Eames replies, hedging the question, and Ariadne can see the extra 'u' as he says the word—definitely one too many margaritas, she thinks, if this is the outcome. "You admit it's true?"

She rolls her eyes and waves a noncommittal hand. "So we kissed in a dream, big deal. It's not a marriage proposal, why are you so interested?"

Eames shrugs. "Just wondering how it was, is all. Did he kiss like a fish? I bet he kisses like a fish. No imagination, that one. I'm surprised he made a move at all, really."

"What? No, Arthur doesn't kiss like a fish, Eames, don't be an idiot. It was—nice," she says, hesitating only a moment.

The look Eames gives her makes her want a camera. "What in the name of all things holy is your point of comparison, Ariadne? Nice is a word you use to describe that sweater you got from your great-aunt Tillie that smells like smoke and mothballs. It's not how you describe a kiss. Are you sure it was a kiss at all?"

Ariadne scoffs. "It was nice, okay? Just nice. I'd like to see you do better."

The look in Eames' eyes changes, darkening slightly, and Ariadne's mouth goes dry. He can't possibly have taken her seriously. Could he? In the middle of a bar, where anyone could see?

But he is taking her seriously, it seems, shifting closer yet to her body in the booth, dwarfing her effortlessly. "Come now," he says quietly. "You should know better than to issue a challenge like that to _me_ , of all people."

Ariadne's eyes have fluttered shut; her breathing is quick, shallow; her fingers fidgeting with the edges of her napkin. Eames has the kind of voice that casts spells when he wants it to, enraptures listeners, sketches dreams and possibilities in a few warm breaths. Ariadne is enthralled despite herself.

"This, Ariadne," he continues, his mouth now millimeters from her own, "would be a _kiss_."

And, by god, it is. Arthur's kiss had been small, and fast, and nice, just as she had said. This was the opposite of all of those things—it is large and slow and absolutely not nice so much as it is toe-curlingly, mind-numbingly sexy. Eames has a hand on her cheek, holding her in place, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone as he licks into her mouth, tasting every inch of her he can reach.

She can hear herself moan indecently, but it's hard to spare a thought for the rest of the bar when Eames is sucking on her lower lip like that, good god almighty, what has she started, oh, _god_. There's a heat between her legs, her heart is racing, every nerve in her body is alight—this is more than a kiss, this is a religious _experience_.

And then Eames pulls away with the lightest of touches, and her vision clears, and Arthur is clearing his throat meaningfully, and Ariadne wants to die.

Or kiss Eames again.

That doesn't sound so bad.

Eames leans back in the booth and takes the pint glass out of Arthur's hands. Ariadne watches as he drinks—there's a flush in his cheeks, and the triumph she feels only makes her want him more. She looks back at Arthur.

"What?" she asks boldly, placing a hand on Eames' thigh under the table. "It was a practical demonstration."

Arthur manages to look disapproving without saying a word, but Eames just smiles and takes her hand under the table. The night goes on.

Later, Eames asks her to dance.


End file.
